


The Blood of Paranoia is Thicker than The Water of Chamomile

by Kaiserkorresponds



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Burns, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Foreshadowing, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has a Bad Time, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist is Bad at Feelings, Martin Blackwood Makes Tea, Mentioned Sasha James, Mentioned Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Paranoia, The Magnus Archives Season 2, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/pseuds/Kaiserkorresponds
Summary: "I said, let go."Martin froze. Jon was testy at the best of times, and in all truth abrasive the majority, but Martin had never heard the level of cold fury coating his tone before."Didn't you hear me?" Jon repeated, his eyes blazing.--The first time that Martin realizes how intense Jon's paranoia is going to get is when he accidently spills tea on him !!
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	The Blood of Paranoia is Thicker than The Water of Chamomile

"Jon." Martin cried, a flash of panic hitting him at force full at the realization he had run into his boss. His infamously grouchy boss, who he was already clearly disliked by, all while holding a cup of boiling hot tea. The same tea that was now soaking through his own jumper, and was rapidly dampening down the pale material of Jon's button up. "I– I'm so sorry. I didn't, I wasn't– Are you okay?" 

Jon scowled, shaking drops of scalding hot camomile off his sleeve. "Yes, I am. No thanks to you." 

Martin breathed in sharply. "I'm so– I didn't– I swear, I didn't mean to." 

Jon leveled him with a steely look. "No, you didn't. Have it cleaned up by this afternoon." 

He pivoted sharply, twisting back towards his office. 

A flash of something, sharp and subconscious, caught Martin's eye, and his hand reached without his permission to latch onto Jon's sodden shirt. 

Jon's gaze was pure fury. His eyes snapped up from Martin's grip on his wrist to bore into his eyes within a sharper second than what even felt human and the vitriolic brown of his eyes near burned with the weight of his stare. 

"Let go of me." He snarled. 

"I saw– you, you're–" Martin stuttered. "You're bleeding." 

The color drained from Jon's face instantaneously. 

"I said, let go." 

Martin froze. Jon was testy at the best of times, and in all truth abrasive the majority, but Martin had never heard the level of cold fury coating his tone before. 

"Didn't you hear me?" Jon repeated, his eyes blazing with an intensity that struck like lightening. 

Martin's eyes flickered involuntarily down to their still conjoined limbs. Blood had begun to seep sluggishly from underneath Jon's sleeve, mixing with the tea to form a frothy, red tinge between his fingers. The same staining that had caught his attention in the first place expanding across the pale blue fabric. 

"But you're–" 

Jon snarled, the sound deep and harsh in his throat, and yanked his wrist out of Martin's grasp. 

"Do not touch me without my permission." He snapped, taking a rapid step backward, his face contorting viciously before he forcibly smoothed it. 

He gestured tensely to the slowly congealing puddle of tea. "I expect this to be cleaned up by the time Tim and Sasha are back from lunch." 

He pivoted on one heel and strode away, the red bloom across his shirt a stark contrast to the paleness of the fabric. 

The door slammed behind him as he stalked back to his office. 

Martin stood frozen in shock. 

Jon was terse and abrasive, and occasionally unintentionally cruel, but never truly vicious or violent. The only hints of annoyance being the curt, professional irritation he had at being interrupted or delayed, or the general distaste he harbored for frivolities. Nothing akin to the cold fury in his eyes that had struck Martin. 

It drew an abrupt, involuntarily image of a prey animal cornered by a predator, striking out as a last chance at survival.

The thought sent a shiver down Martin's spine, an unbidden image of Jon's blood saturated sleeve flashing in front of his eyes. 

Slowly, he raised the hand he had touched him with. Tacky, diluted blood clung to his palm, thinned out by the tea, yet still unnervingly thick against his skin. 

No burn should have caused that amount of bleeding. 

Martin felt a frigid chill race through his limbs at the realization. 

This was far too much blood for a simple burn. Scaldings by tea were painful, certainly, and truthfully rather unavoidable. Yet, they never broke skin, and if truly bad they blistered rather than bled. And the breakroom kettle certainly wasn't an effective enough heater to create that type of injury, leaving no chance that the blood had come from being doused in Martin's chamomile. 

Which raised the question of where it had come from. 

Martin stared at the solid wood of Jon's door, the milkiness of the rapidly concealing tea soaking into his socks, and a felt flash of true fear. 

The sensation of knowing that something terrible was about to happen stinging in his chest as if it were the burnt skin over his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed plz feel free to leave a comment/kudos!! <3 
> 
> And if you'd lke to see more of my personality my Tumblr is @ Kaiserkorresponds !!


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